Page 60 of Bratva Prisoner
“As far as I know. I haven’t spoken to either of them in about four years.”
“What happened four years ago?”
“My mother called asking for money to cover some gambling debts. When I refused, she accused me of being selfish and ungrateful. My father got on the phone and told me I was a disappointment who’d never amount to anything.” She pauses her massage to readjust her position. “That was the last conversation we had.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Cutting them out of my life was the best thing I ever did for my mental health.”
The matter-of-fact way she discusses her family’s dysfunction tells me this isn’t the first time she’s had to explain their toxicity to someone. But there’s something else in her voice—a hesitation that suggests she doesn’t share these details lightly.
“Is that why you broke up with Troy?” I ask. “Because his lifestyle reminded you of them?”
“In some ways, yes. The control, the manipulation, the way he made me feel like I was crazy for having reasonable boundaries.” Her hands find a new knot of tension near my neck. “I swore I’d never let myself get trapped in that kind of relationship again.”
“But you stayed with him for three months.”
“Because he was good at hiding it at first. The possessiveness started small—wanting to know where I was, getting jealous when I talked to other people. I told myself it was romantic attention instead of controlling behavior.”
The pain in her voice makes me want to hunt down Troy and show him what real violence looks like. But right now, she needs understanding, not more anger.
“When did you realize it wasn’t romantic?”
“When he started isolating me from my friends. When he began showing up at places uninvited and calling it a ‘surprise.’ He made me feel guilty for having a life that didn’t revolve around him. By the time I recognized the pattern, I was already in too deep to leave easily.”
“What made you finally break it off?”
“That day I stumbled on him surrounded by money and weapons, I went home and looked in the mirror one day and realized I was becoming the same scared, anxious person I’d been as a kid. Walking on eggshells, constantly trying to avoid setting him off, making myself smaller so he wouldn’t feel threatened.” Her voice drops to barely above a whisper. “I refused to live that way again, and staying with him after learning what he truly was would guarantee that I would.”
The strength it must have taken to recognize that pattern and break free from it impresses me more than her rock-climbing skills or her courage under fire. This woman has survived two different forms of systematic emotional abuse and come out fighting.
“I’m proud of you,” I tell her honestly. “For getting away from all of that.”
“Most days I feel like I’m still running from one disaster to the next.”
“Running toward better things isn’t the same as running away from problems.”
Her hands go still for a moment before resuming their work again. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Running toward something better?”
“I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. And I think you deserve someone who sees that strength and wants to protect it, not exploit it.”
“Someone like you?”
“I’d like to think so,” I answer.
“Tell me about your family,” she says, clearly wanting to deflect attention from herself. “The good parts, not just the business side.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What were you like as kids? Before all the responsibility and territory disputes and everything else that comes with this life.”
The question makes me smile despite the serious turn our conversation has taken. “Loud. Competitive. Constantly getting into trouble.”
“All six of you?”
“All six of us. Aleksei was the natural leader even then, always trying to keep the rest of us in line. Grigor was the mediator, stopping fights before they escalated. Dmitri was the quiet observer who saw everything and said little.”
“What about you?”
